Chapter 26

“Congratulations—you’ve shed your baby fat and become real adults.”

“We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, but you’re already the pride of my life. I’m genuinely happy I got to spend this time with you.”

The instructor lifted a hand to the brim of his cap, hiding most of his face.

Tomorrow was the closing ceremony, the final day of boot camp, and today the cadre would say goodbye to the freshmen and head back to base.

Just when everyone expected a tear-jerker speech, the man ripped off his cap and declared in a theatrical sigh:

“Honestly, I don’t want to report back at all. I still haven’t had my fill of Jiangbei street food, and I never even ran into one of those gorgeous Hai Uni teachers you all talk about.”

“Back in the unit it’ll be nothing but pitch-black mornings and non-stop drills...”

He drooped like a puppet with its strings cut, eyes glazed, staring at nothing.

Third Company burst out laughing—so even the instructor hated training.

No one noticed the glint he quickly wiped away while his head was down.

“Can’t bear to part with you idiots...” he whispered, too low for anyone to hear.

Then, out of nowhere, someone shouted, “Take care, sir—we’ll miss you!”

“See you at next year’s boot camp!”

The freshmen really were sorry to see him go; they’d eaten, sweated and napped in the same dust for half a month.

Sure, he’d been a terror on the drill ground, but off-duty he’d chatted fashion mags, idols and the cute guy in Second Company with the girls, and games, basketball and every weird meme under the sun with the boys.

Long ago they’d quietly filed him under “friend”.

They’d always known this day would come; it still felt too soon.

The instructor raised his head, scrubbed a sleeve across his face, exhaled, then grinned.

“All right—time for the goodbye. If our paths ever cross again, I hope I’ll meet you as the outstanding adults you’re going to become.”

“And tomorrow at the ceremony—don’t make me look bad.”

As a thank-you, Third Company shoved Lin Zhe to the front; he was the only one who could actually sing.

Lin Zhe didn’t mind. He liked the guy too, and the lump in his throat said as much.

“Cut the sappy stuff,” the instructor scoffed, beaming anyway. “Just win us some glory tomorrow and don’t disgrace Third Company.”

Lin Zhe slipped off his glasses, raked the bothersome fringe back with his fingers, baring his forehead and a pair of striking eyes.

The girls of Third Company did a double-take; they’d barely noticed last time.

They’d watched the video on the Back-Alley Cats’ channel, but up close was a different planet.

Why on earth did someone with eyes like that hide behind long bangs and cheap frames, looking like background furniture?

He parked his glasses on a fence post and borrowed a guitar from a senior passing by.

She recognised him at once—campus milk-tea shops had been looping his “Mercury Records” every night, and the Back-Alley Cats’ video had blown past a million views.

Every Hai Uni student had seen it.

She handed the instrument over with a smile.

Lin Zhe tuned quickly—everything felt right—then sat on a step beneath the big tree beside Third Company.

Word spread: “Hai Uni’s Most Romantic Voice is singing again.”

Kids from neighbouring companies drifted over; a couple of their instructors tagged along, including the senior who’d lent the guitar.

Soon Lin Zhe was ringed by a small, hushed crowd.

He plucked the first chord; a bright, lilting riff floated out.

“Car horns slice the hush—

I hear but cannot see.

Under the street-lamp’s blush

my shadow stands closest to me...”

His voice was clear, dark, effortless, the kind that slips straight into your chest.

A lifetime of seeing souls in colour had taught him exactly how hearts work.

“I’ve used up every ounce of strength—

still can’t break through the glass.

So let me hold your hand at length

and say goodbye, goodbye—

a hundred times goodbye.

If we never meet again—

goodbye, goodbye, ten-thousand times goodbye...”

The song caught fire. Freshmen, instructors, even the guitar-owner swayed along.

Some girls wondered why he wasn’t a voice major instead of film.

“Please turn away—stay quiet—

don’t look into my eyes.

Under the light your shadow’s

the farthest distance, an endless sky.

I’ve used up every ounce of strength—

still can’t stop forgetting you.

So let me hold your hand at length...”

By the last chorus the whole circle was singing; the tune was simple, addictive, impossible not to join.

“—goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye—

a hundred times.

If we never meet again—

goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye—

ten-thousand times...”

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye—said a hundred times.

If we never meet again.

“Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye...”

Ten thousand times over.

A good chunk of the freshmen on the parade ground caught the feeling stitched into the song and started humming along without thinking.

In the end, the word “goodbye” alone looped so many times nobody kept count.

The moment the Regiment HQ whistle cut through the megaphone, the singing finally tapered off.

At the sound of the assembly call, the instructors snapped to attention, then jogged in perfect form back to their spots in front of the HQ.

“Instructor—see you later!”

As the last note died, some girl’s voice rang out from nowhere.

After that, a chorus of goodbyes rose like a tide.

They didn’t know that even if they come back for next year’s military training, the instructors who greet the new class at Lihai University won’t be the ones standing here now.

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